


Kill the Envious Moon

by catstrophysics



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, Walking at night, guitar playing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catstrophysics/pseuds/catstrophysics
Summary: A man sits on the balcony across from Enjolras's apartment and plays guitar every night, singing to no one in particular. He finally spots Enjolras. They get to talking.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 72





	Kill the Envious Moon

**Author's Note:**

> for the [hoes for enjolras](https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA) Discord server. (join if you'd like!)

The good thing about Paris, Enjolras thought, was that the weather was mild enough to leave the windows open part of the year. Not a _large_ part of the year, to be sure, but enough. Unfortunately, the din of the traffic only increased with the window cracked, but he’d prop his phone up against the lamp, turn on a playlist of Stravinsky’s music— _The Firebird_ is a beautiful piece, after all—and bury himself in studying to ignore the noise. 

This time of night used to be for working, but instead he found himself staring anxiously out the window at the plant-crowded balcony just across the street. The alley below his apartment, a three-story sheer drop to the cobblestones below, was barely wide enough for a single car to pass through, and as such could almost see into the apartment across the way. 

He stood up abruptly from his desk, puttering to the kitchen to make a mug of tea. A flash of motion flickered across the lamplit window he’d been staring at, and he paused, the edge of the tattered curtain rippling as the person behind it hovered just out of sight. Still watching out the window, Enjolras rummaged for the half-eaten pack of biscuits he’d been working through for a few days, a tiny surge of triumph bursting in his chest as his fingers brushed the wrapping. He pulled out a couple, crumbs breaking off around his fingers, and sat back at his desk to wait, lamp still aglow casting judgemental light over the work he should be doing. 

It all started earlier in the fall, when the night air cooled down enough to be bearable. Another weeknight, with a formidable stack of unfinished work beside him and the window open. Then, just like now, a flash of motion across the street had caught his eye. _Un_ like then, now he expected to see the man with a head of unruly dark hair pulling out a guitar, and kept his window propped a little wider in anticipation. 

He heard the balcony door creak open across the way, and the familiar shape of the guitarist with unruly hair was silhouetted against the lamplight inside for a moment as he settled down, sitting cross-legged amidst a dozen plants in mismatched pots. The telltale discordant sound of a guitar tuning, each note shifting just a hair higher as the man on the balcony fiddled with the pegs, wafted over the alleyway. 

Enjolras did his best to tuck his nose down, focusing on the page of ten-point Calibri that needed reviewing, but his thoughts remained resolutely fixed on the mop of dark hair he could just see out of his peripheral vision. He adjusted his glasses and reached for his tea just as a quick, irreverent arpeggio rang out into the night. 

“Hey,” he laughed softly, though the sound carried through the air. “First try tuning.” Enjolras’s ears perked up as another quick succession of notes flowed effortlessly out. 

He’d wanted to talk to him, sometime, call out through the warm, still night air, but every time he’d left the words unsaid. Through smudged glasses— _he should really take care of that,_ he thought, and reached for the scrap of cloth he kept in the desk—he watched. 

The man’s voice was easy to listen to, considering he was a handful of yards away and not in a studio recording. It was a song Enjolras didn’t recognize (not that he recognized most songs, anyways), but his voice growled on the low notes and rang out into the night on anything high, and he had the vague desire to bottle up the sound and keep it with him forever. 

The sun sank lower still, leaving the sky to fade into a washed-out shade of blue, and the man on the balcony sang until the sun slipped all the way below the horizon. Enjolras finished off the last of his tea—when had time passed that quickly?—and reached up to shut the window, when: 

“I can see you, you know.” 

Enjolras startled, smacking his hand on the metal frame of the window. The man across the alley was looking directly at him, guitar hanging upside-down on his back. He looked as though he were smiling, but it had grown too dark to know for sure. 

_Oh, well._ “Me?” he chanced, and the man nodded. 

“You, blonde in the window, who’s sat like that every night for a month now, yes.” He gestured to Enjolras’s window. “Open that up more and have a chat?” 

The man’s voice was just as compelling speaking as singing—warm and gruff, soft around the edges. Enjolras jiggled the window open further, motes of dust falling from the tracks past where he’d ever pushed, and leaned out. He rested his chin on crossed arms, thoughts drifting briefly to how soft the sleeves of his sweater were. 

The guitar was gone from around his neck—inside, probably, though he wasn’t sure—and now sat with his feet hanging over the edge of the balcony, legs between the wrought-iron bars of the handrail. 

“So,” he called, the word echoing off the buildings too loudly. With the window open fully and leaning out, Enjolras could see his features a little more clearly. The man winced. “So,” he tried, much softer, “there we go. What’s your name, man?” 

He swallowed hard. “Enj—Enjolras, er, you?” 

His face lit up. “Ange? Like angel? Oh, that’s hilarious. Guess you look the part.” 

“No!” he yelped. “Um. No, just Enjolras.” 

The man smirked, but didn’t press, and reached for a leaf to rub between his fingers. “I’m Grantaire, starving artist and part-time guitarist.” 

“I—you’re really good,” Enjolras offered. “At guitar, I don’t know about art, but.” He could feel heat rising in his cheeks as he floundered, trying to justify his words. “Anyways.” 

They fluttered into silence, Grantaire absently fingering the edges of one of his plants and Enjolras watching his fingers dance. No more words passed between them, and what felt like hours but could have been mere seconds stretched out lazily. 

Enjolras felt Grantaire’s eyes on him before he saw, still preoccupied with how the shadows danced off the leaves of the tomato plant (he thought), and looked up. 

He heard him exhale hard, then suck in another breath. “God, I hope this isn’t too forward, or anything, but do you want to, like, go get coffee, or something?” Grantaire paused, scratching the back of his head. “I know you don’t sleep, your light stays on all night, and we’re practically friends—” 

“Because I’ve watched you through my window for a month?” Enjolras cut in, half-disbelieving. He nearly declined on principle, but froze before the words fell from his lips. 

He had watched him from a distance for a month for a _reason_ , after all. Hoped to get to know him and learned the melody, if not the words, to every song he’d played more than twice. And a chance had come, floated in on the night air. Paperwork could wait, he figured. 

So, with a guilty glance at the several dozen more pages in need of editing, he nodded. “Meet you downstairs?” 

The man— _Grantaire_ —grinned widely. “Don’t be an axe murderer, _mon ange_.” 

“Just Enjolras,” he called, but Grantaire was already ducking back through the door, raising a hand behind him in brief farewell. The door slid shut with a creak, and Enjolras was left leaning on his arms out the window. 

He could, realistically, not go. But his heart told him to go, to take a chance for the first time in years. It was—he checked the clock on the microwave—just now 9 PM, he could stay in and finish his work. He didn’t owe it to Grantaire and his offset grin to actually meet him in the alley between their apartments. But Enjolras polished his glasses once more, running a halfhearted hand through his hair and tousling the sides straight up, and began to hunt for his shoes. (He found them, after a minute, in the cabinet with the cereal, where he’d had a particularly pressing idea the night before). 

The elevator in his apartment building wasn’t broken, it was nonexistent, and he nearly toppled down the last few stairs. Just outside, Grantaire leaned against the brickwork, fiddling with something between his fingers. 

Enjolras took just a moment to study before Grantaire noticed him standing there. He was rather attractive, in a crooked sort of way, with the warm, flickering streetlamp overhead pouring golden light over his head. His hair turned brown in the half-light, and honeyed highlights rested atop his cheekbones. 

Peaceful, even as his fingers moved erratically. Enjolras cleared his throat softly, and the man nearly leapt out of his jean jacket. 

“Sorry,” he said, stepping through the door. “Didn’t want to startle you.” He clearly had, though, frozen with his mouth hanging half open. He nudged his glasses a bit further up as Grantaire remained still, save for a few blinks. “Ready to get going?” 

Considering they knew nothing about one another except names, they hadn’t spoken enough yet, and rather than respond, Grantaire hooked his thumbs into his front pockets and cocked his head towards the opening of the alley, where the lights of the street grew brighter and the din of the traffic increased. Enjolras fell into step next to him, walking in comfortable silence for a minute as they passed underneath Grantaire’s balcony. 

“Tomatoes,” he blurted out of the blue, cocking his chin up. “They’re what’s all over the balcony, tomatoes and herbs.” Grantaire nodded bashfully, a blush spreading dark up to the tip of his nose. “Didn’t know if you could see from your place, God knows I can’t.” 

“D’you wear glasses, then?” Enjolras asked. “For your eyesight.” 

He shook his head, hopping lightly onto the curb of the main road as they reached the end of the alley. “I’d lose ‘em. Don’t need them for art, anyways, everything far away looks better blurry.” He kicked absently at a rock as they passed stores closed for the evening, windows darkened. 

“God, no, what?” Enjolras remembered before he’d gotten a proper prescription, the leaves on trees bled together and shapes indistinguishable beyond, well, shapes. “No, try these, here,” he said, pulling his glasses from his face. The world unfocused instantly, lights bleeding out into bright hazy points as he gingerly passed Grantaire his wire-framed glasses. He took them diligently, turning them over a few times and nearly walking off the sidewalk into the gutter as he did, before settling them on his nose. 

Then his eyebrows shot towards the fringe of his hair, and he looked around quickly, awe glimmering in his eyes. 

Enjolras felt a smile spreading his cheeks as he watched. “You like it?” 

Grantaire turned to look at him for the first time straight-on, dark eyes dazzling behind the lenses of the glasses. His jaw dropped open ever-so-slightly, and he pulled in a shaky breath. “Y’know, Enjolras,” he began, “I made that _ange_ comment when I’d only ever seen you from afar. But now…” he let out the breath in one quick burst. “Damn.” 

Enjolras could do nothing but laugh, and a flurry of adrenaline stirred in his chest. “You’re kidding.” 

“Never about this,” Grantaire replied. 

_Oh._ That was new. 

“So, uh.” He cleared his throat, and Grantaire’s expression dropped slightly, raising a hand to pull off Enjolras’s glasses and return them. “Where are we headed?” He’d agreed to wander about town with a near-total stranger he was only _marginally_ sure wasn’t a serial killer (serial killers probably weren’t that good at guitar, right?) and had no clue where they were going, passing familiar street names and storefronts without turning off the main road. 

Grantaire nodded off towards the left, and Enjolras followed his cue.“Coffee, right? Night coffee? And there’s something I want to show you.” 

The street they’d turned down was similar to the alley their apartments faced each other over, narrow and lined by stories-tall buildings with darkened windows, bicycles chained to racks and one very grumpy alley cat, grey with white speckles, that Grantaire nodded gleefully at. Enjolras added that snapshot to the photo gallery in his heart, along with the image of Grantaire rubbing a finger over his plant and the sound of his voice at night. 

“It’s just past here, used to come here a lot but not really, anymore.” They turned a corner together, and a small, unassuming chapel slouched between the apartments. Its tired, tiled roof was bare in a few patches, darker underneath showing amid the red shingles. “We can go in, if you like.” He seemed breathless, worshipful, and Enjolras almost wondered if he really wanted to go in, or just wanted Enjolras to see it. 

But he nodded, stepping closer to the door with the tiny stained-glass window, and Grantaire tugged the handle open gently. It creaked as it swung on old hinges, and inside it was near pitch-black, except at the far end. 

“Take my hand, there’s a few loose tiles in the floor.” Grantaire reached his hand out, waiting for Enjolras to close the last few inches. He did, and the rough calluses on his fingertips rubbed over his knuckles as their hands fitted together. 

“Used to come here all the time, back before I got my own place,” he said, sitting down on a water-stained pew and gesturing for Enjolras to sit in the patch of moonlight next to him. “Really nice acoustics, y’know.” To demonstrate, he hummed a few notes, and his point held: they rang out beautifully in the dilapidated sanctuary, dissipating into the still air. “C’mon, try it, it feels nice. And you’ve heard me sing every night for weeks now, it’s your turn, eh?” He smiled slightly, encouragingly, and squeezed Enjolras’s hand once. 

Truth be told, he hadn’t noticed their hands were still interlaced, but it felt quite nice, and he squeezed gently back. 

Then he hummed, the first few notes of the riff Grantaire always warmed up with, and he felt the fingers against his own twitch. 

“That’s mine,” Grantaire offered as the notes floated up through the hole in the roof. “That’s… from a song I’m working on.” 

Enjolras hummed, a tuneless noise of agreement more than anything. “It’s pretty.”

“You’re pretty, _ange,_ ” he said, “much better looking not-blurry.” 

He blinked, then shifted closer. “And you’re much prettier than your music, Grantaire.” 

The man looked pleased, and with that, the air between them changed. It grew warmer somehow, and Enjolras leaned closer, tentatively, to rest his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, blond curls spilling down around his ears. They sat in silence for what could have been eternity, and Grantaire started singing softly under his breath, a mindless combination of songs Enjolras recognized from nights on the balcony and many he’d never heard before, but would know forever from this moment on.

But the moon steadily drifted overhead, wandering away from the chink in the ceiling, and as the shadow crept over them, Grantaire’s singing cut off. 

“We should… probably go, yeah?” he offered, lifting his head from where it had come to rest against Enjolras’s. “Getting late, and all, moon’s prob’ly setting, yeah?” He glanced up at the sky, and Enjolras followed his gaze.

“ _Fuck_ the moon,” he muttered, petulantly, and rubbed his thumb over Grantaire’s. “But… thank you, for this.” 

Together, they stood up, and Grantaire let out a quiet whimper as he stretched and a series of cracks ran up his back. Enjolras stifled a laugh, and allowed Grantaire to lead them back out of the chapel, past the faded gold cross hanging crooked over the door. 

They’d made it farther through Paris than Enjolras had noticed originally, weaving back out of the sidestreet and looking down the main road, where he could barely see their street in the far distance. It suddenly came to him that they’d be saying goodbye in a few minutes' time, and barely had each other’s names, had just one night thus far—one night and a million songs, to be fair, but one night. 

He glanced over, Grantaire’s eyes focused across the way towards the river, and just took in the sight while he had the chance. 

Hopefully, another chance, another night, and it was worth it to ask: “Grantaire?” 

His head snapped around, and half his hair ended up directly over his eyes. Enjolras crushed the urge to push it back as he did it himself, but the itch in his fingers remained. 

“Could we…” he trailed off. “Do you want to do this again sometime? I had… yeah.” _Eloquent, Enjolras._

Grantaire smiled, a soft affair that dawned more than spread across his cheeks. “Thought you’d never ask, _ange._ This weekend? Dinner?” 

Enjolras felt a gentle tug in his heart at the nickname—funny, because the last time it had been used he’d been wildly annoyed by it. “Sure, Grantaire. Saturday.” 

They didn’t talk the rest of the way home, walking in step down the silent, half-lit street, Grantaire casually sweeping his thumb back and forth across Enjolras’s knuckles. As they turned the corner into their street, Grantaire’s overgrown balcony came into view and the lamp was still burning in Enjolras’s window, casting a warm glow onto the pavement. 

Just between the entrances to their two buildings, they paused, and Enjolras took Grantaire’s free hand in his own. 

“Thanks, for this,” he said, and nothing else was needed. 

They split up into their respective homes, Enjolras setting his glasses on the side table as he walked through the door, but he glanced up and saw a very fuzzy shape waving to him from between the plants on the balcony. He raised a hand in return, smiling quietly to himself, and as he flicked off the lamp the moon overhead felt ten times brighter than usual.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I’m [here](https://catstrophysics.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr if you want to come chat, and the [hoes for enjolras](https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA) Discord server is fledgling but a POPPIN' time. :) Title shamelessly stolen from Act II Scene 2 of Romeo and Juliet.


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